


You Know You Want This

by protego



Category: Jessica Jones (TV)
Genre: Abuse, F/M, Mind Control, Rape, Sexual Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-19 19:54:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17008161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/protego/pseuds/protego
Summary: “She tells him she wants him, and he goes down on her on the floor. She screams like it hurts, until he tells her to shut up.”Snapshots from Kilgrave's teenage years.





	You Know You Want This

He’s been in this house for a few weeks. The couple who were here when he moved in are dead now. They walked into one of the nearby rivers and never came out again. He doesn’t know which river. He’s in Lewisham, so it’s probably full of plastic bags and trolleys and water bottles and shit. God, he’s so fucking sick of London.

He lies on the floor and stares at the ceiling. There’s a crack running along it, thin and lightning shaped.

“You know this place is shit,” he says.

“This place is shit,” the girl agrees.

Kevin looks at her. He doesn’t remember her name – it’s something beginning with R, he thinks. She’s got the same cow-eyed stare they all have, the same slack jaw, the same hollow voice. But she’s better than any of the others so far. She can do things with her tongue that he didn’t even know were possible, things that make the other girls seem like inexperienced virgins. He can’t remember how long she’s been here. Days? At least a week. She mostly just sits there in silence, until she’s addressed.

He learnt quickly that they did that. They all just fucking sit there. They don’t say they’re hungry. They don’t say they’re tired. One girl collapsed because she was tired, but she didn’t fucking tell him. She just fainted, clean away. He’s careful with them, now. He’s seen enough piss spreading on carpets, smelt enough shit, to last a bloody lifetime. He always asks if they need anything, now. Even then, sometimes, they screw up.

This one has behaved, though. She got undressed quickly, but not too quickly. And she didn’t have any random moles or scars or anything disgusting like that. She’s basically perfect. She looks like the girls in magazines. Slightly smaller breasts, maybe, but she’s by far the most attractive one he’s had.

Kevin stares at her. “Tell me you want me,” he says, bluntly. He’s not even really aroused. He’s used to the sight of her naked body now – it takes more than that to get him really interested. But he’s bored, and there’s fuck all to do in this part of town.

She tells him she wants him, and he goes down on her on the floor. She screams like it hurts, until he tells her to shut up.

* * *

She ends up walking out of a window. Kevin turns his back on her as she crosses the room, with her empty eyes and her stiff movements. She doesn’t make a sound as she climbs onto the window ledge and goes over. He hears her hit the ground, and it sounds like a piece of fruit exploding against something solid.

* * *

There is no limit to what they do. They boil their heads, stab themselves in the chest, cut their throats, rip out their eyes, pull out their tongues, peel off their skin, pry out their teeth, cut off their hands, walk out of windows, into oncoming traffic, into rivers. They fuck themselves and touch themselves and hang themselves.

He learns quickly. There’s nothing they say no to. Nothing.

* * *

Sometimes, they repeat him. He tells them they want him, and they say I want you. Not always. Some of them don’t say anything, they just react. But occasionally, they will say it back. He decides he likes it, especially when they repeat back what he’s going to do to them, when they say it softly, like they’re anticipating it, like they’re waiting

Sometimes, he tells them to say it again, if they don’t do it automatically, to repeat back what he’s going to do. Just for the kick of hearing them say it. Especially if they have nice voices. He likes listening to the ones with good voices, soft voices, throaty voices. Now he’s not in Manchester, he doesn’t have to listen to that godawful accent. Girls here – wherever the fuck _here_ is – pronounce things like his parents did. He enjoys hearing those girls say _fuck_ , because it sounds so clipped and proper.

But, more than hearing them say it, he enjoys hearing them moan it.

* * *

“I like your jacket,” he says, the first time he actually does.

“Thanks.” The guy is about his height, Kevin thinks, and his size. He wants the jacket. It could do with a wash, but he’s cold. It’ll do until he gets to the house.

“Give it to me.”

Very, very, rarely, they resist. He sees it happening. They go still and frown – they look confused – and it takes a moment for them to do what they’ve been ordered to. It used to worry him, when that happened. As if his ability had failed him. But it hasn’t failed him yet. No matter what. They always do it, even if he has to repeat himself, or tell them to do it _now_.

The guy takes the jacket off, and hands it to him. Kevin shrugs it on and walks away.

* * *

Every time he turns on the TV, someone is going on about money. Characters in TV shows, characters in movies, people on the news, adverts selling shit. It’s like the whole sodding world revolves around money. Kevin has seen more money than he can remember. It’s lying about in drawers and in jars on the kitchen counters of the houses he lives in, and in the pockets of jackets men give him. It’s fucking everywhere. He doesn’t see what the big deal is.

* * *

“Tell me, what’s your name?”

“Anna.”

Sometimes it’s something else. Tessa, Sarah, Christine, Jane, Margerie, Linda. He doesn’t give a shit. It’s just a necessity, knowing their names. So he can address them directly in public, without running into the risk of having someone else tag along. He learnt that very early on.

“You want to come with me, don’t you, Anna?”

“Yes. I want to come with you.”

* * *

They’re interchangeable. He’s had sex enough times to know a good lay from a bad one, so some of them stay around for longer, if they’re good at something in particular, but even then, he gets bored of them eventually. They wear out, like the toys he had when he was a kid, before he got sick. Their smiles aren’t as bright, or they do something disgusting, or they say the wrong thing. They lose their appeal.

Some of them get lost, some of them just leave, some of them take the quickest way out, if they’re high up. He doesn’t really think about it. He just wants to get rid of them. He takes no pleasure in it. He just wants them out of his sight.

* * *

In the beginning, he had one girl at a time. There was no real reason for that – it was just what he was doing then. But that was a long time ago. Months? Years? He has no idea.

After his parents left him, he just focused on the adults in the houses he was living in. He needed people to cook for him and someone to make his bed and someone to get medicine if he was sick. But he’s got more complex needs now. Needs that require personal attention. Now, whoever’s already living in the house is barely visible. Unless they have a daughter. The current occupants of the house cook and clean up any messes and take care of boring household shit.

And there are girls who sing and girls who play instruments and girls who dance and girls who fuck like porn stars. There are men who drive and cook and carry his things, and guys his size (he has no clue how old they are, how old he is) who give him clothes and shoes.

He has no patience for children. He sends them away as soon as he sees them. Children should be seen and not heard. His dad used to say that, when was young.

His old dad. Kevin hardly remembers him, honestly. That was a completely different life, a million years ago. But sometimes, he thinks about him. And his mum. He thinks about where they are, if they’re wondering about him. When he sees a couple that resembles them, or hears a man who sounds a little too like his dad, it’s like an attack. But it never lasts long.

* * *

_You know you want this_ , he says.

 _I know I want this_ , they all say. And it’s as simple as that.

Every single time.

There’s nothing they won’t do.


End file.
